I hoped this project would make
me a published author, a coveted
accomplishment for any medical
student. Over the next few months,
we met regularly to develop a re-
search plan. As a medical trainee,
the presence of older white men
in positions of authority is almost
constant—so routine that he easily
had my trust as a mentor, advocate,
and sponsor. I saw nothing wrong.
And likely you saw nothing wrong.
Until everything changed.
We had just finished a meeting to
solidify the project idea. We exited
the building to a sky covered in a
thin blanket of clouds. As we were
crossing the street to head to our
respective cars, he stopped, turned
toward me, and casually asked,
“What are you doing after this?
“Oh, I’m going shopping for a
suit for an interview.”
He paused. “What color are you thinking?”
“I dunno. Probably gray?”
He stepped toward me and said, “Send me a picture of
you wearing it.”
Suddenly I saw our relationship in a harsh new light.
His smile was sly and he was standing closer than usual.
He did not touch me, but there was an unsettled weight
in the moment. I was distracted by my pulse, so I shifted
my attention to the Los Angeles street scene. The yelling,
the honking, the smog—that fuss was so much calmer in
comparison. All I could think to do was laugh and walk to
my car.
Over the next month, I replayed and processed the conver-
sation. This wasn’t friendly flirting with an equal. He wielded
obvious currency: support, mentorship, access. Older men
don’t ask young women to send them pictures by accident;
his agenda was clear. I felt naïve for only thinking about howour work would launch my career
while in the background he had
been scripting a different plot. I was
drenched in disappointment that
my vulnerability had been exploited.
I knew if I spoke out, someone
would try to discredit me and sup-
port him. So I didn’t tell anyone,
even friends or family, let alone re-
port him. It wasn’t just my body I
needed to protect; I also needed to
protect my career and reputation.
But I’m telling you now: A faculty
member exploited a relationship
that should have been respected.
I lost what could have been a great
opportunity. I stopped reaching out
to schedule meetings, effectively
ending the project before it had re-
ally started. I slid the incident under
the rug and decided I’d move on to a
new institution after graduating.
More than a decade has passed since then. I did the aca-
demic dance: became chief resident, completed a fellowship
and master’s degree, and obtained a faculty job at a won-
derful institution. And I’ve come to see that the professor’s
behavior is comparatively insignificant relative to the system
that protected it—a system that still exists today and makes
speaking out in scenarios like mine or worse feel dangerous.
Mentorship has great positive potential, but it is also ripe
for misuse. Sometimes the abuses are blatant; sometimes
the harm is more subtle. In all cases, mentees need to feel
protected by their institutions to speak up. I can only imag-
ine that what happened to me has happened to many oth-
ers, too. But we will only know—and be able to take steps
toward solutions—if people feel safe talking about it. jAdaira Landry is an emergency medicine physician and
assistant professor at Harvard Medical School. Send your
career story to [email protected].“Mentorship has great
positive potential,
but it is also ripe for misuse.”
A betrayal of trust
I
was a Black third-year medical student, fresh-faced and longing for guidance. The faculty member,
a physician, was in his 60s, tall, white, and commanding. “How can we treat the patient’s infection,
Adaira?” he boomed as our team made rounds on the ward. I listed answers, cashing in the hours
spent with my nose buried in books. Our footsteps kept a brisk pace on the linoleum floors as he
turned and gave me a slight nod. It was an expected brush of acknowledgement—no smile, no pro-
longed attention. Back at the workstation, I volunteered that I was interested in infectious disease.
He offered to walk me through a related clinical research project. As a young Black woman student, I’d
heard “I’m sorry, I’m busy” from potential mentors all too often. It would have been foolish to decline.By Adaira Landry
ILLUSTRATION: ROBERT NEUBECKERscience.org SCIENCEWORKING LIFE
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